Bad Boy's Last Race

by Dallas Cole

  Sure enough, a few minutes later, a call comes in from a number I don’t recognize. A new burner phone. “Sorry about that, babe. Now, tell me again, very slowly, what happened . . .”

  I walk him through it just the way Brett and Cyrus and I rehearsed. I describe the guys in the frantic way any victim would, but make sure to include telling details that only Tyler would pick up on—the tattoos that mark them as Alonzo boys. Tyler’s tone gets gruffer as we talk, and I can just imagine him pacing angrily around, ready for a fight.

  “You sit tight, babe. I’ll be right there.”

  I hang up and curl myself into a tight ball on the couch. So far, so good. The crew should be getting into position to follow Tyler now, along with Brett’s contacts from the DEA and FBI. We’re betting an awful lot on Tyler’s reaction. If he does what I think he’ll do, he’ll be worried about the Alonzos coming after him, will make a beeline for wherever he’s hiding the rest of his stash—and then they can catch him in the act of trying to move it. All without blowing Brett’s cover. Tyler incriminates himself, then all of his previous activities—including arresting Jagger—look suspicious.

  Fingers crossed that we can pull it off that way.

  Tyler bursts into the hotel, far earlier than I expected, eyes wild. I’ve never seen his face so red before. There’s a vein throbbing along his forehead as he scans the hotel. Finally, he spots me, and strides toward the couch. “C’mon.” He’s wrestling to keep himself under control. It scares me more than ever before—he never worried about checking himself in the past. “You’re coming with me.”

  Shit. Our hope was he’d be too distracted with evading the Alonzos that he’d leave me alone. But I can endure this just a little bit longer. “Tyler, what the hell is going on?”

  “We’ve got to leave. Right the fuck now.” He drags me into the bedroom and, sure enough, goes straight for the stash of cash, his ledger, and the weapons behind the dresser.

  “Oh, my god.” I cover my mouth with my hand, doing my best to look shocked. “Tyler, what the fuck? What the hell are you hiding?”

  Tyler checks the chamber on one of the handguns, then tucks it into the back of his jeans waistband. “You and I are going to be taking a little trip.”

  He pulls out his suitcase and tosses a handful of shirts and jeans inside. Underwear. Adds a haphazard selection of things from my suitcase, too.

  “What are you doing? You tell me what the fuck is going on right now,” I say, my voice breaking.

  “C’mon, it’s just a little excitement. But don’t worry.” His dark grin spreads across his face, making me feel nauseated. That grin never means anything good. “I’ll protect you, baby.”

  “Protect me from what?” I cry.

  He grabs my arm, practically wrenching it from my shoulder, and shoves me toward the door. “Oh, you’ll see.”

  He steers me out of the hotel room toward his truck and tosses the suitcase into the back seat. “Sit.”

  I slide into the passenger’s seat, too numb to do anything else. It’s all I can do not to look over my shoulder and see if Jagger and the others are close by. The point is for us not to be able to see them. We can’t risk Tyler getting wise.

  Tyler climbs into the driver’s side and straps in. My heart is jackhammering against my ribs as he pulls out of the parking lot and heads for the bypass road. “Gotta make a few stops,” Tyler says, as he whips his way onto the highway. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Our way where?” I ask, my heart in my throat.

  Tyler just smiles and flies down the highway.

  Where is he stashing everything else? I hope the crew and Brett’s guys are able to keep up with us. While Tyler’s distracted with changing lanes, I hazard a glance into the rearview mirror, but of course they’re nowhere in sight. Please be safe, Jagger. Please be on your way.

  Tyler’s route is nothing if not complicated. He drives like he’s trying to shake a tail, real or imagined, as he winds through the abandoned buildings of downtown Ridgecrest. I can only imagine what kind of dilapidated warehouse he’s using to hide his goods. Cocaine, at least—it must be what he used to frame Jagger. But he can’t just be holding onto it in case he needs to send some poor innocent guy to prison. He’s gotta have distribution channels. Buyers and sellers. And whatever his link is to the Alonzo gang, he must have some protection of his own.

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. I hope the crew and their law enforcement backup will prove enough if Tyler decides to fight.

  Finally, Tyler turns down a narrow alley that dead ends into more warehouses, and a rusty garage door to our left opens. He turns the car partially through the garage, then looks at me with that awful grin.

  “Why don’t you stay put?” he says, voice slick. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

  I nod. At least we’re pinned into the alley here. That should make it easy for them to arrest him. Right?

  Tyler slides down from the cab of the truck. Within seconds, a fleet of dark vehicles crowd the alley’s mouth, effectively forming a barricade that blocks us in place. Tyler’s tension remains constant, but I close my eyes and let out my breath for a few moments, overwhelmed with relief. Finally. Finally Tyler will be arrested, and Jagger will free, and I’ll be safe.

  Men pour from the vehicles. Men with tattoos curling around their necks; men clutching handguns like they can’t wait to fire them off. Tyler steps forward, a confident grin on his face. Oh, god—he’s not rattled at all. This isn’t right. The world drops out from under me. No. This isn’t the crew, or Brett’s men.

  These are the Alonzos. The southwest’s leading drug cartel.

  “Tyler?” I whisper. “What the hell is going on?”

  Tyler’s left his driver’s side door open, and he looks back at me, still smirking. “When I got your call, I thought, well, the Alonzos were bound to turn on me eventually. Was probably time to move my stuff, huh?”

  My throat tightens. I feel like I can’t breathe.

  “But there was something off about it, you know? It just didn’t quite add up. Here’s the thing you don’t get.” Tyler stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets, as casual as can be. “Me and Franco Alonzo, we’re real close. I figure if he’s got a beef with me, if he really has one, he can just come straight to me with it. No need to go roughing up my girl.”

  I cover my mouth, mute with horror. Tyler isn’t just some corrupt agent. He’s friends with the fucking head of the cartel?

  Tyler whirls on me, face contorted with all too familiar rage. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Sophie. Or which one of Alonzos’ guys is crooked, and planned to help you out with this scheme. But I know I got the fucking feds following me—” Tyler’s screaming now, bashing his hand against the side of the door—“and your sick little criminal friends, and I will find out, Sophie. I’ll fucking find out. And so will Alonzo.”

  A man in a black suit strides forward, mustache bristling as he curls his lip toward me. “This your bitch?” he asks Tyler.

  “The bitch herself. Needs to fucking learn her place,” Tyler says.

  Franco Alonzo looks me over with a gaze that feels like ice on my skin. “Get your shit from the warehouse,” Franco pronounces. “Load it up. Then we gotta move.”

  “What about the feds?” Tyler asks.

  “My boys will give your cover.” He snaps his fingers at Tyler. “Go.”

  Tyler climbs back into the car and puts it in drive. My heart is wedged into my throat; I can barely breathe, barely think straight as fear clenches me in its icy grip. And then we disappear into the bowels of the warehouse while the Alonzo gang keeps my would-be rescuers at bay.

  21

  Jagger

  I leap out of the Firebird, my blood boiling. What is the fucking holdup? The FBI agents’ cars just stopped in the middle of a downtown intersection. Fuck. I need to get to Sophie! Engines rumble all around me, spewing exhaust into the dark night, but I barely hear them over the throbbing of my ow
n pulse.

  I storm toward the lead agent’s SUV. First Cyrus drags in a fucking fed to work with us, some guy named Brett, and Sophie puts herself at colossal risk. But I wanted so desperately to work out that I went along with it. Now we’ve got the DEA, the FBI, all kinds of creepy feds involved, and we’re no closer to stopping Tyler than when we started. How the hell do we get past this block?

  Rahid, the DEA guy who stopped Tyler from “interviewing” me when they raided the garage a few weeks back. Apparently, he’s one of Brett’s internal investigations plants, helping him try to figure out who’s been leaking secrets to the Alonzo gang. I raise my hand to knock on his window, but he’s already rolling it down.

  “Tyler’s got backup from the Alonzo gang,” Rahid says, gesturing toward the swarm of cars that are blocking the alleyway where Tyler disappeared with Sophie. “A whole lot of backup.”

  “Shit.” I toss my head back and look skyward, anger stoking a raging fire in my chest.. He knew what we were up to. He fucking knew it was a trap, and he called for backup.

  “Jagger . . .” Rahid winces, and drums his fingers against his steering wheel. “I know you’re not going to want to hear this . . .”

  I brace myself, knowing damned well he’s right.

  “But I can’t send my guys after him. It’s too dangerous.”

  I swear again. “But Sophie’s in there—somewhere. We’ve got to get her out. And your guy—you’ve got your fucking mole right there. It couldn’t be more obvious he’s linked to the gang now. Right?”

  “We’ve proved beyond reasonable doubt that Agent Brennan is in collusion with the Alonzo cartel. You’re right on that much, at least.” Rahid grimaces. “But he’s got twenty, thirty guys supporting him. The bastard must have a direct line to Franco Alonzo himself.”

  I crack my knuckles. “So let me in there. I’ll tear him apart myself.”

  “We can’t.” Rahid looks at me, his dark eyes heavy. “We have no idea what kind of trap they’ve laid for us in that warehouse. And you can bet your ass they’re going to be moving as one once they leave it. I can’t put my people’s lives at risk trying to break in. Or Brett’s, by blowing his cover with the Alonzos.” He swallows audibly. “I’m sorry, Jagger. We’re done here.”

  “No.” I shake my head back and forth. Anything to use up this restless energy. I’m dying for a fight. I’m dying to see someone pay. Sophie’s in danger, and I can’t rest until she’s free. “There’s gotta be some way. Brett will help us, right?”

  Rahid raises his eyebrows. “You know what the Alonzos do to snitches, don’t you?”

  “Do I want to?” I ask.

  “Torture, skinning, leaving them in the desert at midday covered with pig’s blood to draw the vultures out . . . And then, after they’re dead, they’ll go back and get what’s left of the head—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. Seriously.” I swallow down the taste of bile in my mouth. My head is spinning. I can’t leave Sophie with those monsters. Not for a second more. “But—but what about Sophie? Are they going to do that to her?”

  “Nah. She’s too valuable to Tyler. As long as Tyler’s useful to the Alonzos, she’ll be safe.”

  I bite down a swear. “Great. Now you almost make me want to root for the guy.”

  Rahid smiles weakly. “Only long enough for us to recoup and figure out a new plan.”

  A phone buzzes inside his SUV, and he reaches into his console and pulls out his burner phone. “It’s Brett.” He frowns as he scans the text message. “‘Hey babe, stuck at work, but I’ll grab you some grub on my way home.’ He wants us to meet up with him.”

  I grip the side of Rahid’s car as relief washes over me. “That’s good, right? That means he has intel for us or something. We can come up with a new plan.”

  “Potentially. Or he could beg us to pull him out—Franco Alonzo might be on a mole hunt of his own, trying to find out who in the gang put the feds on his tale. In any case, this message is part of our code. We’re supposed to meet him at the chain of fast food places off of Exit 83 at 2am.”

  I check the clock on my phone. That’s three whole hours away. Anything could happen in three hours. They could seriously hurt Sophie. Cross state lines. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’ve never felt like this before. Adrenaline has always been a good thing for me, setting my skin on fire and honing my focus as I tear around the bend in a tight race. But now it feels like a noose, strangling me. I don’t know how to proceed.

  “I can come with you, right?” I ask Rahid. “Please. I want to help.”

  Rahid chews on his lower lip. “I dunno, man. You’re still charged with a felony—I can’t make that shit go away with a single piece of paper. This is the real deal now, too. The Alonzo cartel. It’s far worse than catching just one crooked fed.”

  “You said yourself you need more people. That this isn’t enough right here.” I motion toward the few federal agents’ cars scattered around. “Come on. I’m your confidential informant now, right? I can help you and Brett, whatever plan you come up with.”

  Rahid looks dubious.

  “You are going to come up with a plan, right?” I ask.

  Slowly, Rahid nods with a sigh.

  “Then let me help. Let the crew help you.” I grip the edge of his door until my knuckles go white. “Please.”

  “Fine.” Rahid offers me a sad smile. “You help me take down Agent Tyler Brennan, I’ll do anything I can for you.”

  Only a few of the fast food joints along Exit 83 are still open at two in the morning, spilling Rahid and one other federal agent to their meeting with Brett. Rahid, Brett, Drazic, and I are all in one SUV with a few other feds; we can’t risk using any more vehicles than that in case Brett’s being tailed by his “friends” in the cartel. I’m still humming with adrenaline, itching to wrap my fingers around a steering wheel and put rubber to the road to save my girl. I don’t know what Brett’s going to tell us, but I’m afraid it won’t be good.

  But there has to be some kind of plan we can work out. There has to be same way to stop Tyler and save Sophie.

  Finally, Brett pulls up in a total hunk of garbage. He parks back behind the dumpster and flashes his high beams once, quick. Rahid steers us over toward him and parks beside him, rolling down the window. The stench of French fry grease floods the SUV as he does.

  “Shit’s bad,” Brett says. “Real fucking bad.”

  Rahid groans. “Tell us something we don’t know,” he says.

  “Franco Alonzo is flipping the fuck out. He’s going on a goddamned witch hunt, trying to figure out who tipped off the feds about Tyler being crooked. He and Tyler had one hell of a row when Tyler showed up with a hostage, but for whatever fucking reason, Franco loves that filthy son of a bitch.”

  “How is Sophie?” I ask. As I do so, I realize I’m practically crawling over Rahid to get closer to Brett. But I have to hear what’s going on.

  Brett shakes his head. “It’s rough, man. She’s scared as shit, of course. Can’t blame her. But she’s being strong. Franco Alonzo is letting Tyler keep her by his side through all of this, which I suppose is as safe as she’s going to be, for now.

  “Forgive me if I’m not exactly comforted by that,” I say.

  “You and me both.” Rahid looks from me back to Brett. “What exactly do you mean by ‘all of this’? What are the Alonzos planning now?”

  “Shit. It’s a madhouse. I only got word passed down to me through my lieutenant, but it looks like the plan is to pull up roots on the entire cartel’s op.”

  “Fuck.” Rahid whistled under his breath.

  I glance back at Drazic, wedged into the back seat between two federal agents. “I take it that’s a bad thing?”

  The agents exchange looks.

  “Yeah. Means Franco Alonzo figures the entire cartel’s inner workings are blown to us. Which is true. But we didn’t want him to know that,” Rahid explains.

  “So they’re going to pull up roots and . . . do what, exa
ctly?” I ask.

  Rahid swallows, then looks toward Brett.

  “Move. Move the entire op to a safer jurisdiction.” Brett grimaces. “Alonzo’s allying every last member of the organization in the whole tri-state area to help. He’s thinking about heading out to California, or maybe southwest Nevada, but he won’t tell us anything for sure until he’s found his mole, probably.”

  “Meaning you,” Rahid says.

  Brett nods, eyes closed. “Meaning me.”

  Rahid rubs his chin, deep in thought. “There’s gotta be some way we can use this to our advantage. Get you out of there safely and pull down the cartel.”

  “And get Sophie out safely,” I add.

  “Right. And bring Tyler in to be tried for his crimes.”

  “Wait.” I sit up straighter in my seat. “You said he’s mobilizing the entire cartel to help relocate, right?”

  All eyes turn toward me.

  “That’s right,” Brett says slowly. “My lieutenant called me in, he’s calling in all the lowest-level dealers and street punks and muscle who guard our stores . . .”

  “Oh, no,” Rahid utters.

  I rub my hands together while I think. “Wait a minute. I think I’ve got something. If you’re supposed to be rallying the troops, then it makes sense to me that you should be able to smuggle in a few of our own. It’s not much—but it could be enough for us to sneak Sophie out.”

  “Jagger,” Drazic hisses from the back seat. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  Rahid shrugs. “It’s actually not a terrible idea.”

  The agents on either side of Drazic exchange looks once more.

  “We can’t risk sending in any more federal agents. My boss would never sign off on it. But if we’re able to send you in as a low-level cartel member, Jagger, and maybe a few of your other crew members . . .”

  “Yeah,” Brett says, agreeing with Rahid. “That actually sounds just dangerous enough to work.”